


Grin And Bear It

by insertfruitpun



Category: The Witchlands Series - Susan Dennard
Genre: Discussion of Death, Gen, also safi and kullens supposed deaths, cam is just vibing, casual gretchya hate, eye rolling, face palming, merik and iseult are very different but they both care about safi, tagged major character death bc merik is the way he is, the shit i saw in suggestions when typing that i swear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:06:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28482123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insertfruitpun/pseuds/insertfruitpun
Summary: What if Iseult was with Merik and Cam in Windwitch?
Relationships: Iseult det Midenzi & Safiya fon Hasstrel, Merik Nihar & Kullen Ikray, Safiya fon Hasstrel/Merik Nihar
Comments: 27
Kudos: 3





	1. One

Iseult hadn’t expected anything to come out of it. She knew that she would not find help in the village, and even if she did, it wouldn’t be enough. Food and water were necessary, but they wouldn’t help her find Safi.

She preferred thinking about it as if her threadsister was just lost. There were days when Safi wouldn’t come talk to her at all, and Iseult knew that the proper response to that was panic. Without anyone else’s threads, Iseult didn’t know how to react. Surely something like this required a feeling worse than worry and panic, but Iseult had no other words for what she was feeling.

For the thousandth time, she wished that she could see her own threads. That impossible wish came and went. Iseult scolded herself for it every time, but it was far better than the other unreasonable thought that wouldn’t leave her mind.

Sometimes, Iseult wished she couldn’t see threads at all. Then maybe her mother would go easier on her, and maybe she wouldn’t be so pathetically jealous of Alma. And even if Gretchya saw her as an even bigger disgrace, this time at least it wouldn’t be Iseult’s fault.

She knew it didn’t make any sense to think about that. What happened happened, and there were more pressing matters in the present. Hopes and wishes wouldn’t save Safi.  
Iseult knew that the mountains were her best hope. She knew it, and yet she still decided to try her luck walking by the sea. She had some money. If she could make it to Lovats, she could at least buy some supplies for her journey. 

She made sure to avoid the village on her way back. They didn’t seem to like her the first time, and this time she wasn’t even coming in with a prince. Or Safi.

Safi would have made her go back, and she would have shouted at anyone who even looked at her the wrong way. But Safi wasn’t there, and Iseult couldn’t find it in herself to spite the world on her own.

She was all alone now. At least she was supposed to be. Iseult hadn’t expected to see any threads, at least not for a while. There were faint, distant ones at one point, showing Iseult that she had passed the village. That was to be expected. That made sense. But there was absolutely no explanation for the grey threads in front of her.

Iseult wasn’t reckless. She could be patient, and wait until whoever it was in front of her moved. She knew she could best this person in a fight, if only because their threads signaled that they were in much pain. Way too much to be capable of doing any harm.

There was that confusing mix of darker threads, almost black. But that couldn’t possibly be it. Dead people didn’t move, dead people couldn’t be in pain, and dead people didn’t have threads. By all logic, this person shouldn’t be there. They shouldn’t exist.

But Iseult couldn’t deny what she saw. She might not be as powerful as her mother, or as gifted as Alma, but she wasn’t blind.

Iseult had to see what the hell she had gotten herself into. It wasn’t wise to approach strangers, especially not one that somehow beat death. But it was what Safi would have done, and, though she knew it would bring only trouble, Iseult knew she would listen if her threadsister suggested it.

Because Safi was Safi. She was restless and brave and Iseult missed her so much. Only her threadsister would throw daggers at a sea fox. And if she did that, she would most certainly take the few steps it took to reach the next clearing, where the dead-but-not-really person was.

Iseult took a deep breath. She was doing this. 

The walk to the clearing was short. Too short. Or maybe that was just her nerves acting up. She was acting like a fool, she knew, but what other choice did she have? The person was moving slowly, if at all, judging by their threads. It would take them a while to be on a safe enough distance. Iseult couldn’t hide in the forest for that long. 

The person had their back turned to her, a cloak covering them and any possible injuries that she could use her to advantage. Iseult didn’t know whether that was a good thing or not.

She had to get their attention somehow. Attacking immediately would be her best shot, but Safi would never do that. Not while her opponent wasn’t turned to her, face to face. Gretchya, on the other side, would scold Iseult for stalling when she could’ve already gotten this over with. 

Iseult hated how much more sense that second option made. She also hated how the first one was an obvious choice, even if it could do her more harm than good. 

Safi – fearless, foolish Safi – would have called out to the person to turn around. But Iseult couldn’t find her voice. She hadn’t spoken to anyone in a while, and doing it just before she attacked someone was too much. 

There were no branches to step on. Nothing around her that would make a sound. 

And Iseult, fool that she was, didn’t turn around. No, she went forward. If this was how she died, at least Safi would be proud. 

Iseult let herself walk louder, but the stranger must have mistaken it for their own steps, because they just kept walking. Really, they were dragging themselves more than walking.  
Iseult was a step behind the stranger when she finally got a reaction. They turned around, and Iseult was hit by a gust of wind, one that surely would have knocked her down to the ground if she wasn’t ready for an attack.

It pushed her a few steps back, but Iseult still had the advantage of being without injuries. Only, in a moment, the stranger’s pained threads were replaced by red disbelief.   
“Iseult?”

Her first reaction was to scold herself for not somehow covering her face. Her next step was to look closer.

She needed more than a moment to recognise Merik. He was scarred almost beyond recognition. If she hadn’t seen him recently, Iseult doubted she would have seen any resemblance. 

She put her weapon down. 

She didn’t know what the proper response to that was. She didn’t even know if there was one. “What in the world happened to you?” Iseult asked, though she could already tell that she wouldn’t expect any answer he gave.

And she didn’t. Merik took a while to explain, and by the time he was done, Iseult half expected to see Esme immediately after. It all felt like a twisted dream.

“So – so, what now?” Iseult asked. She hated having to do it, but she had no idea what came next. Safi still needed their help, but she could hardly ignore Merik’s whole…situation.

“Now I need to find evidence for the High Council,” Merik said, as if it was obvious.

And it really wasn’t. Quite the contrary, in fact. It made absolutely no sense.

“And what if you do? The Council won’t believe any fool off the street pretending to be the Prince.” Iseult heard the harshness in her words as she said them, but she could hardly find it in herself to care. Now that Safi was gone, someone had to keep Merik in check.

“My father will tell them,” Merik said. Iseult wanted to laugh. She would have, if she didn’t hear the certainty in his voice and seen it in his threads.

“And why should he believe you are who you say you are?”

“Why did you?” This time, Iseult did laugh. It was stronger than her.

“Believe me,” she said, “I haven’t met many Nubrevnans. If you hadn’t recognised me and called my name, you’d be dead.” She ignored the black threads that were now mixing with green determination. She always knew she wasn’t a good enough threadwitch. It was about time that applied to her vision of threads as it did to threadstones. Merik wasn’t dead, because he was right in front of her, walking and talking. He was injured – badly, in fact – but not dead. 

Merik laughed bitterly, and it was such a bitter sound, reflected perfectly by his threads. “Someone beat you to it.”

Iseult thought at the beginning of the conversation that one of them was going insane, but it seemed like it was both of them. “You’re not dead,” she said, more reassuring herself than him.

Merik grabbed the nearest tree for support. Iseult stopped walking. 

“Not entirely,” he said. Iseult hated the honesty in those words. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on either, but he killed me. I should not be talking to you right now. I should be rotting away at the bottom of the-“

“That’s enough,” Iseult said. She could barely think clearly with all this new information and those cursed black threads overwhelming her. But it seemed like she was still thinking about this more logically than Merik was. “So, you’re n-not dead. We don’t know how, or why. But you shouldn’t question your fortunes.”

It was something she read in a book once. It felt like something that Gretchya should have said to her, but it wasn’t, though Iseult was pretty sure she heard her tell something of the like to Alma on one occasion. 

“How do you expect me not to?!” Another gust of wind followed the words, this one only slightly stronger than the first one. This time, Iseult was unprepared, but she grabbed the tree on time.

“There are simply more pressing matters at the moment.”

“You’re right. My sister needs to be held accountable for what she did.” Merik turned to Iseult, and the look he gave her spoke louder than his threads, “and I can assure you that the Council will hold her accountable. They just need proof.”

Iseult sighed. For the first time in days, she didn’t wish Safi was here because she missed her threadsister. No, she wished Safi was here so Iseult didn’t have to be the one to break Merik’s fantasies down. Iseult didn’t want to deal with it unless she absolutely had to. And for now, it seemed avoidable.

“First we have to return to the land of the living,” Iseult said, “which way?”

“Follow me.” Merik was barely able to move, but he still tried. Iseult was frustrated by how slow he was going. She couldn’t do anything about it, though, so she kept quiet and followed.

Iseult had had enough of any sort of conversation with Merik. She thought he felt the same until he broke the silence. “We’ll go find Safi,” he said, “but I will be of much more help to you as a king than a dead man.”

Now, Iseult could be foolish and even stupid at times. Her knowledge of Nubrevna was lacking as well. But she knew enough to assume that it was Merik’s sister who would inherit the throne.

“King?” Gretchya would have rolled her eyes at the surprise in her voice. Iseult could practically see her disapproving look. It was the only show of emotions ever happening on her face, reserved for her daughter only.

“When the High Council finds out Vivia had me assassinated.” Iseult groaned internally. She wondered how long she’d be able to handle Merik’s delusions before she snapped. “there’s no way they will let her rule Nubrevna.”

Iseult bit back the hundred responses she had to that. All of them would only result in a fight, and they didn’t have the time for that. She just nodded.

They fell into a comfortable silence again, which was something Iseult could get used to, if they weren’t moving so slowly. Everything around them was quiet. The only thing Iseult could hear was her own breathing and footsteps, as well as Merik’s. 

At least she saw someone’s threads again. That was enough of a blessing. If Iseult hadn’t encountered the prince, who knows where she’d be right now. She doubted she’d find the right way to Lovats on her own, and even if she did, she had no guarantee that anyone would offer service to her. Merik might have been scarred beyond recognition, but he was still obviously Nubrevnan. He’d have no issue blending in.

And even if he did, it would cause far less trouble than any of Iseult’s attempts would. 

The silence soon became unbearable, and Iseult didn’t want Merik to put an end to it, if only because she just knew that anything he said would have something to do with Safi. And right now, Iseult needed a clear head. She couldn’t let this slow her down.

If they were going to stay in Nubrevna for a while, the least Iseult could do was find out something about it. “You grew up in Lovats, right? What was it like?”

Merik shook his head. “I spent most of my childhood with Aunt Evrane.”

It was a short, unhelpful answer. Iseult bit her tongue before she asked for more details. She didn’t need to know, and she didn’t want to. This was pointless.

“And you? Safi told me how you met, but I still don’t understand how you ended up in Dalmotti.”

She didn’t know that Safi and Merik were capable of talking to each other without the whole ship hearing their shouting. After all the things she’d learned that day, that one seemed almost normal.

The conversation got so dangerously close to being about Safi that Iseult felt it was best to answer.

She didn’t give Merik any details either. He was hardly in the position to leave her in the unknown right now, and he had proved trustworthy. But he did not need to know about her mother’s perfect apprentice and Iseult’s own incapability of being even a decent threadwitch. He didn’t need to know about Corlant or how Gretchya was hiding things from her for much longer than Iseult was aware of.

Hell, he didn’t even need to know about her friendship with Safi. Iseult had no idea how the two of them even came to that topic. 

Safi was frustrated with him all of the time, which she told Iseult many times. Merik’s threads suggested that the feeling was mutual. And sure, Safi was Safi. She’d befriend a rock. But she hardly ever changed her mind about people.

It was nice to see, but it still hurt to think about Safi. It hurt so much that Iseult would rather just not.

But Merik expressed his pain by talking about it, apparently. Iseult could only take so much Safi-related questions before she snapped.

And she did snap, eventually. Or she would have, if she didn’t notice another pair of threads nearing them. There shouldn’t have been anyone else. Merik said it was a while before he even got on the shore, and that his crew was long gone by then. And, because the questions Iseult asked were sane and had helpful answers, she knew that the village, which they had long since passed, didn’t send out people alone.

They were in a dense part of the forest, though Nubrevna’s plants weren’t a source of envy. Still, Iseult could only see the threads, not the person they belonged to. Worry and guilt were the most prominent emotions. Iseult couldn’t say what colour the threads would take once this person saw that they weren’t alone in the forest.

If there was anything Iseult learned from her mother, it was that anyone could turn hostile in a matter of seconds. Threads showed how a person was feeling in the moment, but moments came and went. They had to be prepared.

Iseult was just about to warn Merik that they weren’t alone when a stranger came from behind the trees. Iseult waited for the moment that their threads changed colours to grey or orange, or literally anything else but the blue relief. Iseult hadn’t expected that. If _she_ saw strangers in the woods, she wouldn’t be glad.

“Oh, thank Noden! I was starting to think I got it all wrong, sir,” the stranger said excitedly, looking at Merik with a mixture of excitement and curiosity in their threads.

It was someone from Merik’s crew, that much was clear. Iseult couldn’t remember seeing the boy on the ship, and his name was an even bigger mystery to her, which she felt bad about.

But at least she had an excuse. She was unconscious for most of the journey, after all. And, based on the awkward look Merik gave her, he didn’t know the boy’s name either, despite obviously recognising him. “What are you doing here?” he asked, which seemed like a fair question. As far as Iseult knew, there were lots of older people on board. She couldn’t see why none of them would take a child to their home.

“Looking for you, sir! It’s been days. I was starting to think you were dead.”

“Starting to think?” Iseult hated inserting herself into conversations that had nothing to do with her, but this was hysterical. “He was on a ship that caught fire. Of course you thought he was dead!”

And then, Moon Mother save her, Iseult had to listen to yet another Nubrevnan describe the fire from his point of view. “I had a feeling you’d live,” the boy said, smiling at Merik. And then, the prince started talking about how hard it was for him to understand what happened when he’d just woken up on the shore after the fire. And instead of calling him out on being overly dramatic, the boy listened with unwavering attention.

That was it. Iseult officially washed her hands of the matter. She was not ready to deal with ridiculous Nubrevnans, and especially not when she had a threadsister to save. But she promised Merik that they’d try to find evidence of the apparent assassination attempt first, and she was going to stand by her word, because she knew Merik would stand by his. Iseult didn’t regret it, but she hated how she didn’t try to negotiate a shorter time frame.

Merik’s stupid crime theories could wait. Safi could not. But Iseult knew that two heads were better than one. The prince did care some for her threadsister, which was equally surprising as it was expected. They were a confusing pair, but Iseult would much rather deal with trying to understand that than do this alone. She gripped her threadstone. _We’re coming, Saf._

A week. She’d given Merik a week to uncover the conspiracy of his sister’s making. 

Iseult didn’t think a week could ever go so slowly. Being Nomatsi was a one-way ticket to ensure that Merik’s mission wouldn’t go smoothly, so she was stuck in Kullen’s apartment all day. Nights were still risky, but considerably less so. 

She only went out once after they came, because Cam insisted that she needed a tour of the city. Iseult said she knew enough from her books, but the boy said that it was the experience that counts. After some convincing, Merik went with them too.

At first he was wary about the idea. Iseult could get them into quite an awkward situation if she was seen. But Cam insisted, and neither of them could really deny the kid that one wish. 

Iseult was thankful for that night. She knew that the entire week’s worth of conversation would have something to do with Safi, and she wasn’t ready for that. She thought that maybe Cam somehow knew. Mostly because Cam always somehow knew things. 

She never saw it for herself, but Merik told Iseult of the many instances when Cam’s instinct saved them a moment before a disaster, even though they were only in Lovats for a day. And he did predict that Merik wouldn’t die.

At first she was going to tell Merik to just send the boy home, but he had proved useful time and time again. And Iseult supposed it wouldn’t be fair. He was only a bit younger than them. It was easier than dealing with a younger kid. Actually, Cam was very independent.

Iseult didn’t know why that surprised her. Maybe because Merik, who was supposed to be a functioning adult, was so emotionally dependent. She understood the pain of losing a threadsibling, but she had no idea how talking about it helped.

Merik was suffocating her with the constant conversations about Safi. The ones about Kullen weren’t so bad. Iseult barely knew him, after all. But she sometimes wishes he just kept it in like she always did. It was infinitely easier for the both of them.

But Iseult could already see that this week wasn’t going to be easy. 

Kullen had quite a few books in his apartment, but Iseult just couldn’t get into them. Not when she didn’t know what was going on with Merik and Cam. It was Merik’s first day looking for evidence of the assassination attempt. He didn’t let Cam go with him, but Cam went anyway. Iseult wished she could follow them as well, but it would be stupid.

Not unlike the whole search for evidence of something that might not even be true. Iseult could not believe she agreed to it. Her mind was elsewhere, but that wasn’t an excuse. Safi needed her help as soon as possible, but she’d have to wait. All because Iseult wasn’t able to negotiate with Merik properly. Or at all.

It was foolish. She was foolish. 

And now she was all alone once again. 

Cam came once, asking what to do with Merik’s money. The fool got robbed without even realising it. Iseult told him to return it and find something to eat. Starvation was absolutely not going to be her cause of death. Not when Safi was somewhere out there, waiting for her, surviving who knows what.


	2. The Fury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cam and Merik go to Pin's Keep and Iseult goes through a small crisis of her own.

Iseult almost asked whether she was supposed to be mad or not. The question was at the tip of her tongue before she remembered who she was with.

That was a question she could ask Safi. She’d get a proper response, because her threadsister was a saint. Insufferable and reckless? Yes, sometimes. but always well meaning. Iseult could count on Safi’s threads to tell her what she should be feeling.

And Safi’s feelings were rarely objective, but Iseult always agreed with her. 

She definitely did not agree with Merik, who was taking this whole thing too personally. It was bad, that he had gotten himself into such a situation. But that wasn’t what Merik was focusing on. 

“She looked at you during one of your anger episodes and mistook you for some anger god. It’s not a big deal!” Iseult couldn’t believe they were even having this conversation. She couldn’t believe she was teaching a grown man how to ignore insults thrown his way on the street. She couldn’t believe there were people who didn’t experience it.

“The Fury isn’t really the god of anger,” Cam said quietly. Iseult almost told him just what she thought of the whole cursed nation, their prince, and their badly-named gods. But it wasn’t the kid’s fault. If anyone was to blame, it was Iseult. She should’ve put her foot down right away and told Merik that Safi came first.

But she didn’t say it then, and she wouldn’t say it now. _It’s just one week,_ she told herself, _seven days, one hundred and sixty-eight hours. One week._

And until then, she’d just have to try not to go insane. That was proving to be rather difficult. 

“She thought I was him, Iseult. I don’t even look human anymore.”

Iseult never understood Habim better. Hell, Safi at least wasn’t this self-pitying. Just frustrating. 

Merik was both. “Lack of food and water messes with people’s minds,” she said, hoping to end the conversation there. To frame the woman as crazy and Merik as crazy and just be done with it.

“And the fact that she and her sons lacked food and water is my fault.” 

If Iseult agreed with him, Merik would insist that he should become king to make his country better. If she disagreed, he’d blame it on his sister and it would ultimately cause the same reaction. So Iseult said nothing, hoping he wouldn’t take her lack of response as a response.

He didn’t. Merik moved on, talking about his sister’s office. Iseult was still on the fence about whether she believed that princess Vivia really tried to kill her brother. The evidence Merik had so far was plausible, and paired with the murderer’s last words, it was too much to be a coincidence.

But Iseult wasn’t sure if she believed Merik was retelling that day on the ship correctly. 

She trusted that Merik wouldn’t betray or hurt her, but they didn’t know each other. He could easily not tell the entire truth about what happened, and Iseult wouldn’t blame him. It just seemed so suspicious that Merik based his entire murder theory on one sentence. She doubted that was all that the murderer said. After all, _she_ could be anyone. Even Iseult herself. She didn't believe Merik was foolish enough to not consider their alliance as a potential trap.

And then there was Cam. Every time Merik talked about his sister and what happened on the ship, his threads got the colour of rust. Guilt.

It made sense that Merik would tell Cam the whole story and not her. He was loyal to Merik, and while Iseult was certainly not going to stab him in his sleep, they weren’t exactly best friends. Or friends at all. Iseult even used the word allies reluctantly.

But it was what it was. There was no one else who would help her find Safi. Not without money, that she didn’t have, or the glory, which she couldn’t give. Merik was her best chance, whether she liked it or not.

And Iseult did not. The ideal ally wouldn’t go out to subtly gain evidence and return with the whole city calling him by the name of one of Nubrevna’s more prominent saints. 

“They must be looking for you,” she told him, “there’s no way you could get into her office without getting caught.”

“They’re afraid of me.” The way Merik said it made it sound like it was both the most terrible thing ever and a blessing in disguise. “Fear can cause respect.”

Iseult had to admit that The Fury would be a valuable asset. But she and Merik were far from thinking in the same way. She could tell that this was beating him up inside by his threads. And it showed on the outside too, at least a little bit, judging by Cam’s concerned expression and threads. 

But Iseult wasn’t his emotional support. She wasn’t responsible for his feelings. And if he embraced The Fury, they could go find Safi sooner. Cam was looking at her, as if he was waiting for a counter argument. But Iseult wasn’t a fool. She couldn’t reject an opportunity like that.

“You said the people here respect your sister. Can fear counter that?”

Merik and Cam went to Pin’s Keep. And Iseult was left in Kullen’s apartment. Alone.

She should’ve gotten used to it, or at least made peace with it. It was her own choice. If she wanted to go out, she could have. Moon Mother knew Merik wasn’t the one for worrying about practicality. 

But he was already in enough trouble as it was. Iseult would be a fool to add onto it. The silver lining was that at least this time, he let Cam go as well. They argued about it for good twenty minutes, with Merik insisting that what he was doing was too dangerous for a child, and Iseult fighting the urge to say that any child would be more capable than him. 

It took a couple of hours for Cam to come back. Iseult wasn’t worried. Kullen had what could be called an obsession with the twelve Paladins and other myths and legends, judging by the books he read. Some parts about The Fury himself were helpfully underlined and highlighted, sometimes copied onto random papers that fell out of books. 

Most of them said that The Fury was feared, but that there was nothing inherently evil about him, at least not in the original legends. He just carried out the decisions Noden dealt. The Fury brought justice. It made sense that most people would be afraid of that. And that fear meant Merik and Cam were safe as long as Merik looked like he just walked out of several different natural disasters.

Iseult couldn’t even begin to guess why Kullen Ikray would have this morbid obsession, though. But the more she read, the more she found it weirdly fascinating as well. Iseult mostly focused on the topic of the Paladins, unlike Kullen, who, except for one book, fixated solely on The Fury. All the other books on Paladins looked like they were barely open. They didn’t look new, and some of the language was old, with annotations in the margins when it got unreadable. But it wasn’t the same handwriting as it was in some of Kullen’s notes.

The books were probably just old, well-kept library books that would never be returned on the shelves after the First Mate’s death. There was no other explanation for the thousand different handwritings lining the pages, with language changing with every new note. As if it was read again and again over centuries, by many different people. It felt magical. 

Iseult just wondered where the library was, and if Merik could sneak her into it. She had to keep herself entertained somehow, but the book keepers seemed to care about the knowledge they guarded if the books in the apartment were to judge. They most likely wouldn’t hesitate to turn away any unwanted guests.

The books themselves contained bits and pieces of information that Iseult heard or read elsewhere, and sometimes whole passages that felt familiar for no actual reason. The more Iseult read, the more frequent that sense of familiarity became. It was awfully gratifying, so Iseult kept reading. She thought to ask Merik if his threadbrother ever described a similar feeling, but the question died on her tongue when Cam returned alone.

Iseult didn’t know what to focus on first. Cam’s injuries or the lack of a prince by his side. But the wounds looked mostly tended to, and Merik had a tendency to mess up all of his already bad plans in the worst way possible. “Where is he?” 

Cam didn’t ask who she meant. He didn’t even give a half-hearted greeting before getting right into the story. Merik was caught. Of course he was. And his body was probably rotting in his sister’s office while the woman Cam saw went to tell someone. 

Once again, Cam insisted that Merik wasn’t dead. And once again, Iseult was so tired of having to deal with Merik at all. But this time, instead of keeping it to herself, Iseult snapped and told the boy to go find his prince, if the fool truly wasn’t dead. 

It was a mistake. She knew that as soon as a few minutes passed, and Cam didn’t return. 

Iseult shouldn’t have worried. Cam mentioned growing up in Lovats more than a few times, though never in great detail. Merik asked her once if she noticed that. It was in private, of course. Iseult rolled her eyes. There was absolutely no way that she was going to explain the appeal of keeping some things private to someone like Merik.

It would just be a waste of time and effort. And quite possibly brain cells. 

So was worrying about where on Earth Cam would stay. It wasn't her problem. It was his decision to go searching for a dead prince. And there was little she could do about it right now, anyway. 

Iseult returned to her books. The sense of familiarity got worse, and closing down the book she was reading only brought unwanted thoughts. Iseult tried to sleep, but it didn't last long. And, even though she couldn't remember any of it, Iseult had that awful feeling she usually got after nightmares. Paired with the headache she woke up with and being in Nubrevna all alone, it was almost certainly the worst day in her life. 

Iseult returned to her reading, even if her headache just got worse with every single word. But what could she do? Every damn book Kullen owned had a least something to do with the Paladins. It was insane. And she was insane for going throught them. 

The sense of familiarity that was weak and fascinating at first became all kinds of wrong. There were things that Iseult's mind didn't take seriously, as if she could feel they weren't true. Which was ridiculous. She wasn't a Truthwitch, and she wasn't there for any of the events described.

So why was her head killing her?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look Iz is basically a confirmed Paladin judging by the sneak peeks we got, and I REALLY wanted to explore how it would happen in a different environment/how it happened to Kullen


	3. Complications

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get complicated

Outside. Iseult was finally outside.

All it took was being alone, surrounded by those damn books, for a couple of hours and she cracked. It was early in the evening still, and while the streets of Lovats weren't as full of light as those in Dalmotti, or even in the Midenzi settlement, Iseult could still find her way around.

The streets were, also, not as clean as the ones Iseult grew accostumed to. And they were so crowded.

A lot of people. A lot of threads, in a lot of different colours. A lot of them showing just how unfortunate the citizens of Nubrevna were.

While Iseult was still connected to the outside world by threads, it was almost...concerning to see the hunger and pain tied to real people. People who spent their days on the streets. And nights too, because there were always people who were less fortunate. 

What was it that Merik always said? Food is coming. He whispered it in passing or while looking out the window. Well, Merik couldn't know for sure. And some of the people were old and sickly. She imagined medicine was hard to come accross in Nubrevna as well. Some of the men and women she passed by wouldn't live to see the next morning. Some knew. Some didn't. Iseult wasn't going to tell them. 

She'd seen what being The Fury did to Merik. To Cam, too, just because he was with the wrong person at the wrong time. The boy had been clumsily healed when she last saw him. It was better than Iseult could do, but it was still bad. And yet the best someone as down on their luck as they were could get. Because that's what they were. What she was, now that she was alone once again. Down on her luck.

There was no way she was going to endanger her life any further by letting all of Lovats know of her witchery. Best case possible, she would be chased out of the city, possibly the country. Worst case, she'd become The Puppeteer in the eyes of people once again. Different people, this time. And they would be afraid of her. She remembered what Merik said. Fear brings respect. But it brings irrational decisions and bad judgement as well.

And the Puppeteer wasn't exactly the dealer of justice.

The truth was, Iseult didn't blame her tribe. Corlant had always been a snake, slithering among them, spreading his poisnous lies. And knowing how the Pupeteer actually was... Iseult didn't blame them at all.

Esme came to her dreams earlier. Or, rather, it was Iseult that came to Esme. Esme. The shadow. The Pupeteer. More than just a threadwitch. A weaverwitch, according to her. 

And she said that Iseult could become that too. That she could become a murderer. It wasn't something that Iseult could avoid. Not really. The war was approaching, whether she liked it or not. She had to fight. But cleaving people... No. Iseult wouldn't do that, because Iseult _couldn't_ do that. She wasn't more than just a threadwitch. She was less.

But Esme wasn't convinced. The girl sounded absolutely delighted to be able to 'teach' Iseult the ways of her witchery. _Their_ witchery, if Esme was to believe. And Iseult didn't. Never in a thousand times would she believe she was special. Not again. Iseult wasn't a weaverwitch, and she wasn't the Cahr Awen. Just like Merik was not The Fury. Legends didn't walk upon this world, and if they did, it was a long time ago.

Now, they were rotting somewhere with the Paladins. 

As soon as Iseult thought that, Esme stopped and the horrifying demonstration was cut short. Iseult didn't know whether to be relieved or not. On one hand, she wouldn't have to witness something so awful as cleaving. And if she didn't see it, it didn't happen. It wasn't real. Back on the ship, when Esme was just a shadow, it was easy to pretend she wasn't real either.

But she was. She was real and terrifying and powerful. And she though Iseult was too.

“You’ve been busy, haven’t you?” Esme now turned to her, and Iseult remembered what the girl said one time. Her thoughts were too loud. But before Iseult could think of a single number, before she could distract both herself and the Puppeteer, Esme continued. “Oh, Iseult. It would have been much easier for both of us if you hadn’t followed the Prince. It would be easier for him, too. He could’ve had another chance.”

Esme sighed. She looked pensive, and Iseult could tell that the Puppeteer was digging deep through her thoughts. “I was hoping you could stay my little secret for the time being, but I’m afraid that the King would like to know about this. Goodbye, Iseult.” And then she woke up.

Esme didn’t usually let her go that quickly. Iseult had done something by reading those cursed books. And if whatever Esme saw in her mind concerned her, then maybe Iseult should be concerned too.

She quickened her pace. It was getting darker, and that meant that she could cover more ground, since there was no need to hide in the shadows anymore. Rumours and news were a thing of the streets, not books. She had to be close enough to listen.

It was a clear night, and most people were hiding their faces. Iseult looked like nothing out of the ordinary. It was just what she needed. Iseult took her cloak, and though the hood wouldn't do much to keep her protected, it was better than just walking out without it. Iseult didn't know what her goal was. To find Cam? To hear if anyone saw a dead man, scarred beyond recognition even before the death happened? 

But she didn’t hear or see anything relevant. And Iseult wasn’t Nubrevnan. Even though she could speak the language, she doubted she could speak it like a person who grew up there. No one would tell her anything. Worst case possible, they’d report her to the authorities.

At least then Iseult could see for herself if Merik’s sister was malicious. All rulers were, at least a little bit. But Iseult couldn’t believe that someone would be cruel to that extent Merik described. He mentioned more than a few times that she wanted him dead for years.

“What did you do to her?” Iseult asked. Many times, in fact. She had yet to get a real answer. Merik would either say he doesn’t know, or that “existing was enough for Vivia.” Both equally unhelpful answers. It was odd that the man who threw his emotions at everyone hid crucial details about the whole mission from his supposed allies.

Iseult needed to know the motive to see if she believed the murder was her fault. But Merik wasn’t giving it to her. All supporting arguments he had were a few words here and there. Iseult didn’t believe that was actually all the evidence he had, of course, but it was all that he told her.

It was clever. Revealing just enough information to make Iseult wonder if he was right, but never the whole thing. If all of Merik’s plans were that good, maybe he wouldn’t have died twice in the span of a few days. But they weren’t, and he did. And now Iseult was all alone, farther away from her threadsister than ever before. 

The Threadstone wasn’t helping. Ever since a few hours ago, it was shining without end. Iseult covered it, but the faint light was still visible. She passed through unnoticed for the most part, but the Threadstone was causing people to look at her. 

She could see people looking out of the window of a tavern. She didn’t know for sure if it was her they were looking at, but it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. That place was just like the streets, but with a roof over it. Dirty, crowded and it smelled awful even from the street. Or maybe that was the old man lying next to it. If it wasn’t for his threads, Iseult would have assumed he was dead. It’s not like he was far from it, either, but he was well enough to sit up and look at the only source of light in the street.

Iseult and her Threadstone.

In the end, Iseult had no choice but to return to the apartment. She had to sit down and think about this. The books, the Threadstone…was it connected? Could it be that Safi was somehow hearing about the same topic and that was why it all felt so damn familiar?

It was just a fool’s hope, of course. Safi was a prisoner. She wasn’t getting history lessons. She was in trouble, and unless the twelve themselves made it their mission to mess her life up, Safi had no reason to even think about it. The truth was that Iseult was going insane, just like that woman who mistook Merik for The Fury. Lack of food and water really did wonders.

When Iseult came back to Kullen’s apartment, she wasn’t expecting anyone else. But there was no denying the fact that Merik stood there, putting away the books Iseult threw across the floor in frustration. She’d never done that before. _Insane._

Merik heard her coming in. He must have. But he didn’t turn around. “You’re alive?” For a moment, Iseult was glad. She wasn’t alone anymore.

“No,” Merik said, “I died that day on the ship.” She was no longer glad.

“Is Cam with you? He…disappeared a few hours ago.” Iseult couldn’t bring herself to say that she was the reason for it. Saying so would mean she didn’t trust the only people who were undoubtedly on her side right now. 

Merik looked at her oddly for a moment before he returned to tidying up the small room. “Cam went to get some food. I know I need it after all I’ve been through today.” Iseult waited for him to continue, to tell her more about whatever he’d been up to, but instead he kept picking up the books. It wasn’t like Merik to be so quiet. Maybe the apartment was getting to him too. “You’ve been busy as well.”

“I’ve been doing some research. People fear The Fury,” she said, “too much to hurt him. Like you said. But I had to make sure why they were scared. Fear makes people do irrational things.”

”Like letting a potential thief go and risking the Princess’ anger?” 

“I- yes, something like that. Someone just let you go?” She was so sure that Merik had more luck than brains, but this couldn’t have been just luck. Someone as supposedly ruthless as Merik’s sister wouldn’t have cowards working for her.

“Not just someone. A Waterwitch.” Iseult could see bits of blue relief in his threads, but even more prominent were the golden threads. The shame that was even audible in Merik’s voice when he continued. “Vivia is going to be furious.”

“Why is that a bad thing?”

“It’s a great thing. What are you talking about?”

Iseult sighed. “I can see your threads.” 

Merik turned around. He looked even worse than before, which was saying something. “She…she didn’t recognise me.” Before Iseult could even ask, he added. “And we’re not the best of friends or anything, but she should have been able to. Instead, she almost killed me.”

“Almost?” 

“It’s complicated,” Merik said, “but I know for a fact that my sister doesn’t take faith as an excuse.”

So being The Fury had saved him. Iseult didn’t see what he had to complain about, then. It was quite possibly the only reason he was still alive. “Do you think we’re going to have the luck of dealing with that same person again?”

If Merik noticed how she said we, he didn’t show it. But Iseult had made her choice by leaving the apartment, and they both knew it. The next time he went outside, so did she. It was a definite improvement, but Iseult wasn’t going to say that. She felt like it was clear enough.

“It’s hard to tell,” Merik said. He was now looking out of the window. As if turning his face away would make his threads invisible to her. It did not, because Iseult could still see the curious threads overshadowed by the ever-present rage and the brand new shame. And, of course, the black. Death. Iseult almost got used to it. Almost. 

“But if it happens, are we going to be in trouble?” If this Waterwitch has indeed let Merik go, she would have to face consequences. And, depending on just how _faithful_ this person was, she might be merciless the next time she comes across The Fury. 

“I don’t know. She’s powerful, and Vivia trusts her.” Another question arose, but Iseult wasn’t going to say it out loud. Still, she could wonder to herself. _Why send a criminal if you have powerful witches working for you?_ It was similar to one of the things that has been on her mind a lot. Why didn’t Merik’s sister kill him herself? What was Merik not telling her?

“Was this a momentary lapse, then?” 

“Probably.” _Then you do know, Merik!_ They weren’t even halfway through the week, and she was already going insane. 

The golden threads of shame were getting to be too much to ignore now. They were almost as prominent as the crimson colours that became the only constant in Iseult’s life the past few days. “Did anything else happen? Were you followed?”

“If I was followed,” Merik said, “Stix would be dead. And then Vivia would hang me herself the moment I tried going to the Council.” 

“Are you saying you think you could kill a full Waterwitch?” The thought was laughable. Iseult hadn’t seen many windwitches in her time, but Merik was among the weaker ones. Compared to Kullen, who happened to be a full Airwitch (something that showed up on numerous notes scattered among the books, below quotes from Eridysi’s lament), Merik was nothing. 

And Iseult didn’t know what his fighting skills were like without his witchery, but she considered herself pretty capable and even she wouldn’t risk fighting a waterwitch. If Safi was by her side, then maybe. But it would be Safi’s idea, and Iseult would be fuelled by panic. Together, they could possibly maybe bring her down. 

Merik alone stood no chance. 

“Not me,” he said, “the Shadow Man.” Well, that was one delusion Merik didn’t have. Iseult was glad.

“Who?” There were no mentions of anyone by that name in any of the books Iseult read, and they were in multiple languages. Whatever country that legend came from, it would have been covered in Kullen Ikray’s extensive library of myths (and some romance books that Iseult put away immediately after seeing the dedication on the first page). But if it could have killed Merik’s former friend, maybe it was no legend at all.

“What,” Merik corrected. “I don’t know. It – he killed one of the members of the council. Possibly some other people.”

That was bad. That was very bad. “And that creature didn’t follow you either?” 

“You’d be dead if he did.” Iseult supposed it was fair enough.

“How are you not dead?” 

“I am dead,” Merik said, “and I think he is too. I hid when I saw him. Linday had an alarm built in his garden.” Iseult didn’t see any sadness in Merik’s threads. No mourning. No grief. Just a twinge of guilt. 

Merik must have noticed the light from the Threadstone reflecting against the window, but he didn’t question it. And Iseult wanted him to ask about it, if only just so she could tell him that if they started looking for Safi that first day, she wouldn’t be in trouble. It wasn’t Merik’s fault, though, so she kept her mouth shut.

Because, as irrational as some of Merik’s ideas were, he was doing everything he could for his country. And the country needed much more, yes, but no one man could accomplish all of it. Iseult lost that sense of doing things for the greater good a long time ago, if she ever even had it. Merik was a self-sacrificing fool, but there was honour in that. He was going to be remembered, even if it was under the name of a tainted saint.

And Iseult wasn’t. But that didn’t matter. She didn’t need to be special or adored or even respected. All she needed was Safi by her side. And right now, she was farther from getting that than ever before. 

Iseult picked up where Merik left off, putting the books still on the floor on their places. They were silent until Cam came back with some food. Iseult didn’t ask about new evidence, and Merik didn’t ask about the Threadstone. It was good to remember that they didn’t owe each other anything.

But when Cam came back, even before they ate, came the questions. First, the boy asked Iseult where she was. There was something that looked like vanishing concern in his threads, but it was gone soon. And then…then he asked about the Threadstone.

Well, he asked about the “awful light” which was close enough. It was starting to hurt Iseult’s eyes as well. “It’s a Threadstone,” she explained, “it tells me when Safi is in trouble. It’s been shining for a few hours now.”

Iseult wanted the words to affect Merik. She wanted him to be ashamed of himself. Nubrevna could wait for another miracle. The country had been slowly breaking for years. What was a few weeks of travel to find Safi? But the reaction she got wasn’t shame, or sadness. Nothing even remotely apologetic.

Instead, Merik’s threads shone with happiness and relief, but the most prominent was the disbelief. 

Before she could even ask what that was about, Cam answered her question. “I thought the Domna died in the explosion?”

Iseult was a calm person, but not anywhere near calm enough to stop herself from shouting. “What explosion?! You got news about Safi and didn’t tell me?” Threads of shame filled the room. Good. Let them think about what they’d done. 

“They said she died,” Merik said, “I know what it’s like to lose a threadsibling, Iseult. I didn’t want you to go through that.” But she did. She already lost Safi. Maybe not permanently, but for now, there was no sign of a reunion anytime soon. 

“So you hid it from me?”

“It’s not something you’d want to know.” Merik was ashamed, but he didn’t regret his choices one bit. 

“It’s not your choice!” Iseult knew she shouldn’t be yelling, just like she knew Merik meant well. If she thought Safi was dead for even a second, it would break her. But the Threadstone would start shining again eventually, and she would know. It would all end as well as possible. 

She could see threads of confusion through the walls, from people in other apartments. But she couldn’t find it in herself to care. 

It didn’t take long for Iseult to calm down, but she wanted to keep shouting. She wanted Merik to feel bad for what he did. But the rational part of her won. It always did, and she always let it. There was no reason to let her anger out when Merik was convinced he did the right thing. 

And maybe it was. That was what angered Iseult the most. If she though Safi was gone for good, she’d start doing irresponsible, reckless things just to join her threadsister as soon as possible. Threadsisters to the end. And even after the end. Safi always joked about how they would die together when one of their plans goes badly. It was never funny, but now it was outright depressing.

So, yes, Iseult knew that the only smart thing to do was to keep the supposed truth from her. She would be useless to Merik’s cause, just like she was useless to the world. The only person who ever needed or wanted her was Safi. Safi, who was miles away. 

And the sooner they helped Nubrevna, the sooner they would focus on helping Safi. 

Iseult didn’t have threads, but if she did, they would be much less calm than her voice was. “I want to see what you found.”

Merik and Cam weren’t stupid. They knew she was still mad. But she was giving them a choice. Ignore it and get things done, or be yelled at and achieve nothing. It was an easy choice. People always felt more comfortable hiding their feelings than showing them. 

Merik sat down on one of the three chairs – originally there for himself, Kullen, and Ryber, as he explained – and picked up some papers Iseult didn’t notice were on the table at all. Cam sat down next to him, but Iseult kept standing. She was never one for pacing around rooms, but she couldn’t calm down her nerves enough to sit down.

“You stole those?” She asked. Merik opened his mouth, but then changed his mind and just nodded. Iseult could practically hear him saying that he had right to any and all documents concerning his country. She was glad he knew her well enough to stop that before it even began.

Merik handed her one of the papers, and suddenly Iseult understood that it wasn’t just the streets that were crowded with people who had nowhere else to go. The whole city had become a refuge for those who were lucky enough to even reach it alive.

“These are monthly numbers?” Merik shook his head.

“Daily.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of my next one-shot is in this! I doubt anyone will find it, but I thought it was cool.


	4. Decoy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yet another plan goes wrong

How people behaved under pressure defined them. That was what Gretchya always said, at least. If that was true, then Iseult was an idiot. 

A reckless, self-sacrificing idiot. Merik was really getting to her. 

He’d been followed, or maybe Cam was. Either way, there were guards outside the building. Many of them. At first Iseult, fool that she was, didn’t notice anything weird about the ridiculous amount of fear in threads of people outside. Moon Mother curse her, she didn’t notice.

By the time they heard the people in the neighbouring apartments talk about it, it had been far too late. 

They were already almost out the door, and there was no time for planning. Hell, if Iseult just let Merik do what he wanted to right away, they could have been out of the building before the guards reached it. But as it was, they had a detailed plan for the reservoirs and no plan to get out.

Merik wanted to unleash his magic, while Cam wanted to just cover their faces and make a run for it. Which meant that Iseult had to come up with a coherent plan. Usually, she could do so in a pinch. But that was when Safi was beside her. Iseult couldn’t make plans without a failsafe. She couldn’t. The confidence that Safi would save them if anything went wrong was gone. Gone, and replaced by the rage of a dead man and the gut feeling of a teenager.

So Iseult brushed away their horrible ideas to make space for her own.

There was a fine line between someone covering their face to shield from the sun and someone doing the same to hide it. Iseult had long ago mastered the art of being as unsuspicious as possible. But this time, she was doing the very opposite. She never wanted to draw attention to herself, and she knew what to do to make sure she didn’t.  
But that also meant she knew what to do to draw the attention to herself, should she want it. 

Iseult already had her hands and face covered, though not enough to make people curious about who was hiding beneath the cloak, which was a few sizes too big. But after adjusting it a bit, she looked just like someone the guards would stop outside. 

And when they did, she kept walking. Quickly. Then once she heard the unmistakeable sound of footsteps, she started running. 

Iseult was fast, and she had a head start. She could keep them running after her for at least an hour, if she took the advantage of shortcuts. When they did eventually catch up to her, she could confess to minor theft. Iseult wasn’t foolish enough to think she’d be left alone after it just because she wasn’t The Fury. Her being Nomatsi certainly wouldn’t help her.

But if Iseult getting caught meant Merik and Cam would be free to do what they had to do, then so be it. 

She might have been running for a little under ten minutes when it became second nature. Gods, she hadn’t run in a while. She was certainly going to compensate for the lack of speed in her life in the past few days, though. 

The adjustment to running gave her the opportunity to pay attention to the threads around her. She wasn’t the only person running around the streets of Lovats, apparently, because there was little to no shock from the civilians. 

Iseult was surprised to find that the threads of fear she saw before came mostly from the guards. It made sense, if she forgot for a moment that it was Merik who was the Fury. All of the guards were powerful witches, probably chosen for the mission by the princess herself. It wasn’t far from the realm of possibility, seeing as Merik said she was quite strong herself. And then there was the matter of the waterwitch that caught Merik. Iseult was glad that she wasn’t meeting the woman any time soon. 

But the guards were convinced that it was The Fury that they were after, and they were wary. Just another advantage.

It took focus to look at their threads while running, especially because they were behind her. But she was prepared for it. Habim had done his best to prepare both Safi and Iseult for the worst case scenario. 

Iseult ran through narrow streets, but not once did she lose any of the guards on her tail. They were all far too clever. If Nubrevna had anything going for it, it was the deadliness of their forces. As much as Iseult hid in corners and went through impossible passages, she still couldn’t shake them off. The threads were always behind her, not too far but not too close.

These people were trained to be quick, but so was Iseult. Habim taught her how to get away from almost anyone. And if Iseult could outrun a bloodwitch, this was a walk in a park. A very dark, smelly park. 

All she and Safi ever wanted was for things to change, but now that they had, Iseult wasn’t sure she liked it. Of course, they thought the changes would be for the better. They were so foolishly sure of it, but in the end, they weren’t even together in their despair. 

But they would be. Soon. If Merik was right about the times he found being meetings, then Cam and he were close to finding the evidence they needed. And, paired with Vivia’s piracy, which was kept a secret from the council, Merik had a solid case on his hands. Iseult hated to admit it, but maybe his ridiculous plan had the slightest chance of working.

She just needed to buy him time. 

At one point, the only think keeping Iseult from stopping was pure adrenaline. Her legs hurt, and she was sweaty. Having to adjust the cloak, that was already far too big on her, every two seconds wasn’t doing anything to help her exhaustion. 

But then she noticed how far away the guards were. They’d stopped. 

Iseult wasn’t foolish enough to think that she had lost them. Exhausted them, maybe, but they knew the streets far better than she did. It was only luck and the Moon Mother’s generosity that kept her from running into a dead end. 

She didn’t rest while they did, hoping to put as much distance between the guards and herself as possible. There was no doubt that they’d find her eventually, but until then, Iseult just had to keep running. Which was easier said than done, really. 

But she persisted. It was all for Safi. She was doing this for Safi, just like Safi would for her. Iseult was certain of that. Just today. One day more. If Merik and Cam didn’t find anything, she could convince them to leave it be. Say the princess obviously buried the evidence and that they would never uncover the conspiracy if there really was one. She just had to outrun the damn guards and buy them some time.

Because, at the end of the day, Merik was really getting to her. And the things he believed were starting to make sense. Maybe it was being confined in a small space together for too long, but Iseult would take this over loneliness every time. 

What was a threadwitch if she had no threads to observe? Maybe they weren’t Safi’s, and maybe she wasn’t completely familiar with them. But it was better than nothing. And Merik wanted to find Safi too. Iseult imagined Cam at least accepted that he’d help too. Two heads were better than one, and three were more than Iseult could have hoped for. Even if her new companions were barely more than strangers to her. 

When the guards’ threads started moving again, there was another person with them. Iseult almost froze in place when she realised what the black threads meant. She’d gotten so used to seeing Merik’s, but this person wasn’t Merik. 

Merik wasn’t as quick. Nobody was. It was like this new person was pushing their body past all limits. Iseult had no doubt now that she was getting caught. But for the first time that day, she doubted that it would be a Nubrevnan guard. 

Something else was after The Fury, and Iseult didn’t know whether to be scared or delighted that she wouldn’t be giving this thing what they wanted. She suddenly felt like her escape plan wouldn’t work. The guards might have accepted her story of petty theft, but this thing, whatever it was, was no ordinary person. And Iseult was not a great liar.   
It was a few minutes after she first spotted those threads that Iseult’s luck ran out. 

She ended up in a dead end, with nowhere to go. There weren’t any windows, or doors. And there was no time to turn back. Iseult stood there, facing the brick wall in front of her and awaiting whatever was to come next. 

She heard footsteps. Calm. Like the person was walking all along. But Iseult knew better. She could see the threads behind her, which gave her an advantage. Not one that could be used in a fight, but if Iseult played her cards right and drew the confrontation out, the guards might catch up and notice that this person wasn’t one of theirs.  
It was a horrible plan, but it was all Iseult had. 

And it was all the worse when the person behind her spoke and her plan fell apart.

“You are hard to kill, are you not?” Iseult froze. She didn’t turn around, and she didn’t say anything. She wasn’t sure she could do it even if she wanted to, and she most certainly did not. Not when Esme had her cornered through the body of a dead man. “And much different than the people I cleave myself. Whatever happened to your threads?”

Iseult didn’t know how she kept her breathing in check. The only thing she was holding onto at the moment was the small hope that Esme wouldn’t recognise her. Small, foolish hope. 

She was so stupid. There was no doubt that she led Esme straight to Merik. Iseult risked more lives than just hers that day, just because she couldn’t go a day without sleeping. She knew Esme was bad news. She knew what the weaverwitch could do. She saw it happen first hand.

“Oh well,” the Puppeteer continued, her grin audible, “I suppose it doesn’t matter. You were supposed to be just collateral damage, you know, but you proved to be far more interesting than anyone else I’ve worked on. I might have some more fun with you yet” 

The phrasing made Iseult sick. The whole situation was a far cry from pleasant, and Iseult was glad – so unbelievably glad – that Esme couldn’t see her threads.

But Iseult could see hers. Or at least, the threads of the person that Esme spoke through. A man in pain, who just wanted it to end. And in a moment of pure stupidity, Iseult grabbed for those threads. 

She had never done it before. It was one of the first things that Gretchya said threadwitches didn’t do. Even before Iseult could see threads for herself, she knew what she should and shouldn’t do. Gretchya couldn’t have her daughter running around overestimating her power. 

She wasn’t supposed to feel the threads at all. Iseult never tried to touch them before. Why would she? If Alma couldn’t, then Iseult never stood a chance. It was hopeless.  
But Iseult _did_ feel them in her hands. It was a strange sort of weight, like it wasn’t really there.

Iseult didn’t know what to do. She acted purely on instinct, and while Esme was still talking, she pulled. There was a slight stutter in Esme’s speech then, but she didn’t admit she lost control. Just kept talking. Iseult pulled on the threads once again, and they came undone.

Esme’s voice disappeared and silence filled the air. 

Iseult turned around slowly and saw a man lying on the street. Dead. 

She exhaled in relief, but it was short lived. While she was focusing on getting rid of Esme, she didn’t notice that the street had filled with people. 

Iseult adjusted the cloak, hoping that she, like Merik, could escape on the assumption that she was The Fury. But it was too late, because the guards already caught up to her. 

And, unlike the people in the street, they didn’t see her kill a man without touching him. Which meant that Iseult had more problems on her hands.

They put her in a small room that resembled an office. 

Iseult didn’t know why, because she was sure that Lovats had actual dungeons, or at least more suitable rooms for this kind of thing. She guessed it was because of how close the room had been to the scene of the crime. Or maybe it had something to do with the amount of people in front of the small office. It sent a message.  
At first, Iseult was alone. She was chained up, and she was certain that there were people guarding the door – four very powerful windwitches, with no more than a bit of fear in their threads – but it still felt nice to have a moment to herself. 

But then the moment turned into hours. They didn’t take her cloak off to search for weapons, and if Iseult really wanted to, she could get out of the chains. Getting out of the office was debatable, but she could always utilise her new skills if need be.

Yet Iseult didn’t. The guards in front of the door changed, and some came under the window, though she wasn’t sure if they were on duty or just happened to be there. Iseult couldn’t move much. She surrendered to the guards, too shocked by what she did to fight.

They didn’t cause any further damage to her. No punching or kicking to ensure she’d be weaker. Iseult found it all too weird, but they didn’t remove her hood until they shoved her into the office. Maybe she was underestimating the number of Nubrevnans who had faith in their gods.

They didn’t give her any food or water. Iseult didn’t expect it. 

She always thought that, if she was ever in chains, it would be alongside Safi.

But Safi might very well be all the way across the world at this point. It wasn’t like Iseult had any way of knowing.

What would her threadsister say if she found out about what Iseult was? About what she did? The man was dead long before she severed his remaining threads, of course, but she was the only one who knew that. She and Esme.

Iseult was tired. Her arms and legs were aching, and the position she was chained in wasn’t entirely unpleasant. It would have been so easy to go to sleep. But she couldn’t. Not when Esme was probably waiting for her to. Iseult had to stay strong.

And while she did manage to stay awake, replaying the horrors that happened earlier in the day in her mind, sleep was always just around the corner. Iseult must’ve been at least half-asleep when the door slammed open.

“Explain yourself!” A simple command, though Iseult doubted the Princess would believe her if she really did tell the truth. 

So Iseult said nothing. She was a terrible liar, but she was persistent. There was nothing they could do to her that would make her talk.

Merik’s sister didn’t come alone. She was accompanied by just one other person, a Waterwitch who closed the door slowly on her way in. She took a good moment to look at Iseult, and then whispered something into Vivia’s ear. They were too far away for Iseult to hear, but whatever was said, it seemed to only anger the Princess further. 

“Because your vision is simply perfect, Stacia!” She snapped. Iseult could see bits of regret in her threads, and none of the rage she was showing. Just exhaustion. “Even if she isn’t who you saw that night, that person surely wasn’t The Fury either.”

The Waterwitch insisted. “I know what I saw, sir. She might be working with The Fury, but she didn’t-“

“The Fury doesn’t exist!” Vivia Nihar looked a lot like her brother. She even acted the same as he did. The only thing missing were the red threads that made it justified. “She is working with someone who thinks they can disgrace the name of a saint and, as far as we know, has killed two people. But as it is, we’re just going to have to wait and see if they come for her.”

“You can’t keep me here,” Iseult said. She barely found her voice. She needed some water. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

The Princess laughed. It was an ugly, bitter sound, that matched her threads better than every other false performance she’d given since she walked in. “You murdered a vizier. Countless people saw you.”

“I didn’t even touch him.” Iseult supposed it was true, but the Princess scoffed. It obviously wasn’t enough.

What would Safi say? “It was in self-defence. I have no idea what you were talking about just now. I was followed by a stranger and I got scared. It was an accident”

Princess Vivia came closer to where Iseult sat on the floor, until she was right in front of her. The Waterwitch joined her, her threads greening with concern. The Princess drew her words out, talking slowly. Like she had all the time in the world. “I don’t believe you.”

She would have been a fool to, really, and that was obviously not the case here. But Iseult wasn’t going to give up easily. She tried another approach. “Why do you care, anyway? I hear the Council has been against you recently.” It was a lie, a bad one. She hoped to cause some anxiety and doubt within the Princess, but that didn’t happen.

“If I wanted any of the viziers dead, it would be much cleaner.” Then she turned to the Waterwitch. “And it’s bold of you to say that they deserve it in this kind of company.” 

“Am I supposed to know what that means?” Iseult was so obviously not Nubrevnan. She wasn’t used to people treating her like a murderer because of actual murder instead of treating her like that because of her being Nomatsi. 

If anything, this was the ideal interrogation.

“If people went around killing viziers, then my first mate would be left without a father.” She motioned to the Waterwitch. “Surely you aren’t implying such a thing would be all right.”

“Because family means so much to you Nubrevnans.”

Iseult hadn’t meant to say it. Merik really was getting to her. “What is that supposed to mean?” Princess Vivia asked. When Iseult didn’t reply, she repeated her question, drawing her words out once again. Iseult was sure the next thing coming was an attack, but there was a short knock on the door before one of the guards came in. 

He bowed to the Princess before saying something in Nubrevnan, so quickly that Iseult couldn’t catch any of it. She talked to Merik and Cam in Nubrevnan, but they knew to slow down when she was around. Before them, she never really was around many Nubrevnans.

The guard was dismissed, and the threads that filled the room were anything but pleasant. The Princess moved to unlock her chains, setting Iseult free before immediately grabbing her by the wrist and dragging her out of the office.

“What did he say?” Iseult didn’t really expect an answer. She didn’t know why she asked.

“Your friends are here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nearing the end! I really like this chapter. What do you all think?


	5. The Undercity

They were underground. For some reason, there was a passage beneath the building.

The Princess didn’t look like she knew about it, but Iseult doubted that she was going to discuss it in front of her. It felt strange to be a criminal. A murderer. Even though, technically, the man was already dead. But nobody else knew that. If anything, Iseult had put him out of his misery. She almost laughed at the irony. 

It was darker the deeper they went, all pitch black except for the one lantern they had. They let Iseult walk on her own, no chains or blades pointed at her back, though she had to be in between her captors. She could escape, probably. But it wouldn’t be easy, and there was no need to do so in that moment. So Iseult didn’t. 

She’d tried to get information about their destination, but she figured that the anticipation in the princess’ threads was as good of an answer as she was going to get. Other than that, they walked in silence. It proved that Merik’s sister was a far better travel companion than him. There was no unnecessary conversation, and if Iseult went too slow, she was either pushed or dragged forward. 

Escaping would definitely not be easy.

Before they made it to the bottom, she saw threads. The sudden bright colours caused her to stop for a moment, which earned her another push. “Keep moving.”

Iseult wished it was that simple. “There’s people down there. Many. I think- I think they’re hurting someone.” The pain and fear was visible in one pair of threads only, while the others were disturbingly violent. There were hints of rage and hate and everything wrong.

The Waterwitch turned around and faced her princess. “We really should have given her something to eat and drink.” Normally, Iseult would have agreed with that statement. But she remembered what she said to Merik just days ago. Lack of food and water messes with people’s minds. They thought she was insane.

“I’m not lying.” Iseult hoped she could hide her witchery from them, but she had no other choice. While she wasn’t sure that Merik’s sister wasn’t as terrible to him personally as he said, Iseult could see that she wasn’t a terrible person, either. She was usually right about people. Seeing their threads gave her the advantage. And this time, Iseult was hoping so hard that she wasn’t wrong. “Or crazy. I can see their threads.”

A bitter laugh came from behind her, the result of exhaustion and pain, but also bits of hope. What the Princess found hopeful in a dark passage, Iseult didn’t know. But she did know that she’d better listen to what she was ordered to do next. It was the first time that day that actual anger showed Princess Vivia’s threads. “We keep moving. Stay quiet, and when you spot them, work your thread magic. I want them all gone.”

“My thread magic?” Iseult knew it was best not to question it and just do what she was told, but she couldn’t help it. 

“I don’t believe in all the rumours I hear,” the Princess said, “but only a fool would ignore them completely. They say you killed Linday without touching him. Do the same to the people down there.” 

Iseult didn’t remember when she agreed to work for Nubrevna so selflessly. Or at all. 

And she also didn’t remember what she’d done earlier in the street. “I can’t.”

“Why? Afraid your Fury will be down there?” Just when Iseult was starting to side with Merik’s sister, she had to say something that reminded her of the relation. Merik always said his sister used to taunt him in the worst ways. But Iseult was not Merik, and she had her own distant family to worry about.

“It’s dangerous.”

“Murder generally is. You didn’t have any issue with it before.” 

Iseult saw no point in arguing with the Princess. Her newly discovered power was beyond dangerous, and she didn’t know if she could do it again. It wasn’t the matter of morals.  
The Waterwitch seemed to recognise that. She’d only been listening before, but when she finally spoke, she took Iseult’s side. “She knows the risk of her own power best. Perhaps we should just send her to get reinforcements-“

“Good idea. Go do that.” Iseult knew that neither of them were sincere. The calmness with which they spoke was greatly overshadowed by the concern and determination in their threads. She didn’t move, but neither did the Waterwitch. Iseult was starting to think it was her that the Princess addressed. For a long moment, nobody said anything, and then realisation shot through the Waterwitch’s threads.

“You meant me.” All three of them knew she did. It wasn’t a question. 

The Princess nodded, causing red disbelief to take the place of understanding the other woman’s threads. “You need me here.” Then came resistance “You know you do.” 

Iseult’s head hurt from the overlapping threads between the two. She felt like she was intruding. And Merik’s sister must’ve felt that way too, because she showed Iseult more trust than anyone else would have. “Go ahead and watch the strangers. Do not do anything.”

And just like that, Iseult stepped into the dark, this time alone. She followed the faint light until she made it all the way through the passage and into what seemed like a town square of sorts. Only it was underground.

Well, maybe it was bigger than a square. It was certainly more than just a few streets. And yet, there weren’t as many threads as there should’ve been if it was a usual city. 

Iseult hid the best she could, while still trying to be as close to the strangers as possible. Her threadwitchery allowed her to hide completely, not needing to have her head out in order to see what was going on. It gave her an even greater insight, actually.

Observing the threads of the people the Princess wanted gone brought surprises. Awful ones, that made her skin crawl. And they came in the form of a few sets of black threads.  
Whatever they were talking about seemed serious, but Iseult couldn’t for the life of her tell what was going on. She understood every other word said, and even then she wasn’t sure. They spoke too fast, and Iseult was not familiar with most of the words used. And then she noticed a familiar set of threads.

After what happened earlier, Iseult wasn’t entirely sure that it was Merik. He was obviously not the only one with dead threads these days. But he was standing farther from the other people, hiding just as she was. There was concern in his threads, and fear. The other people in the underground didn’t seem capable of concern.

Iseult was going to go against the orders she was given when the Princess came. Her threads were bright and colourful. “What is this place?” Iseult whispered, though she doubted she’d get an answer.

“A solution,” Vivia whispered. And then, more to herself than to Iseult, she added. “We can house so many people here.” The excitement in her threads made the words seem louder. “Are you sure you can’t get these people out of my city?”

It wasn’t quite an order. Iseult hadn’t paid attention to the threads behind her, more focused on the threads in front of her and the fact that Merik was probably there. But something happened when she left, and it seemed to be a good something. Perhaps the promise of reinforcements made the princess worry less.

Iseult was seen as less of a criminal than any of those people, which gave her the power to give suggestions. And ask questions. “None of those people are my companions,” Iseult chose her words very carefully, “but one of mine is here, too, watching them. And judging by his threads, he doesn’t seem to like them very much. Let me speak to him.”

Iseult didn’t want to risk Merik’s life. He did it more than enough. But she didn’t entirely expect the Princess to let her go alone. “Would that make the person they’re torturing your other companion?”

Iseult didn’t look at the people. The threads were more than enough. They told a thousand more words than faces could. But once she did look over, she saw that Vivia was right. “I need to help him. We can’t just stay here while-“ 

But then Merik’s threads moved. He came closer and closer to the scene in front of them. Iseult wanted to warn him that his sister was there, but she couldn’t. She was helpless.   
“While what?” She must have seen that Iseult wasn’t going to answer, because then came a sigh. “Here’s a deal. I can make sure your companions are safe before anything else. And then you will get these people out of my city.” Iseult could not do that. But so far, she was a murderer. Being a liar as well was nothing compared to that. She nodded.

Iseult was hoping the Princess would go right away. That she’d come faster than Merik did. But that wasn’t the case. Merik had reached them before his sister even started walking. For a moment, Iseult hoped that Merik was truly as unrecognisable as he thought. But then the Princess’ threads shone with something that was not quite relief, yet was still closer than Iseult would have expected.

Iseult hardly understood what was going on. The amount of black threads was disconcerting at least. And despite her best efforts, Iseult did not grow up in Lovats. She couldn’t be expected to understand what in the world they were saying.

She could see that it was getting bad. One man in particular was now talking to Merik, and it didn’t seem like a friendly conversation. She barely peeled her eyes away from that scene when the Princess turned to her. “Getting that one out of there is on me.” 

And then she ran forward.

Iseult hadn’t noticed it at first, but she was holding in her breath. And when a head hit the floor, she released it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a short one, but it gets the point across. I've had it done for a while now, but wanted to wait till I posted the finale of the Valentines day fics. That has not happened yet but I will try to finish it asap.

**Author's Note:**

> I really enjoy putting Iseult through struggles she doesn't deserve.


End file.
